Love You Madly
by The Respectable Pureblood
Summary: The road to love is never smooth but it's especially rough where the Daedric Prince of Madness is involved. Dovahkiin has one piece of advice for you. If the madgod Sheogorath comes a-courting? Run. RR? Be ye warned. Short mad chapters ahead.
1. Chapter One: Cabbages, my thane?

**Inspired by the Elder Scrolls Kink Meme. Go look! **

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The Dragonborn was widely-known for being a sensible sort. There was nothing wild or crazy about her, apart from her job of dragon-slaying, and even that was done in an eminently practical fashion. Her armour always matched, her hair was always pulled back neatly and she always tidied her brain neatly at night; folding away all the useless and crazy thoughts that only served to distract her so that she needn't think them.

On top of that, the Dragonborn, was rarely flummoxed. Ah, but this was one such rare occasion.

She stared at her housecarl in her typical school-masterly fashion. "Lydia." she said, and the woman had the sense to look suitably cowed.

"Yes, my thane?" was the reply.

"What_ is_ this?" she asked, sharply, and nodded her head in the direction of the Breezhome living area. She would have stepped inside the house, it being practical to get out of the rain, but as it was there was no room.

A moment of hesitation, where her housecarl weighed out her answer, carefully. Aewyn fought the urge to sigh despondently, if Lydia paused before she spoke it was almost certainly going to be a stupid answer.

"Cabbages, my thane," her housecarl replied, at last.

_Cabbalanche!_ Something inside Aewyn declared, a manic, laughing version of her inner voice that scared her. She stopped feeling scared quickly of course, for fear was a silly emotion. Never let it be said that the Dragonborn was silly. Yes, she pushed the word away firmly, trying not to wonder where such a notion came from and fixed a haughty, disappointed look on her housecarl. It was a look that only an Altmer, such as herself, could pull off and screamed maturity.

"I_ know_ that," she enunciated. "I know what cabbages look like, and these are most definitely cabbages..." Her eyes swiveled disapprovingly over the scene once more, just to check that it was real. Of course it was real. The Dragonborn did not imagine things. If she were to imagine things, then she would be distracted. If she was distracted and a dragon flew past, then all sorts of nasty situations could arise! No, the cabbages were definitely there.

"What I want to know is why so many cabbages exist at one point," she continued. "And why they are here, cluttering up my home."

"...my thane?

Divines give her strength.

"Well?" Aewyn asked, her frown deepening. The sight of so many cabbages unnerved her immensely; cabbages roasting on the fire, cabbages in the cooking pot, on the table, on the stairs. Hundreds of them, hundreds and hundreds (and mind that the Dragonborn was not the sort of mer who exaggerated) everywhere. Cabbages spilled out onto the road, much to the confusion of passer-bys.

"Did you buy them? Is this meant to be a joke? Lydia, you know I'm not the sort that likes jokes."

"I know you don't like jokes, my Thane," Lydia replied, soothingly. "I didn't buy the cabbages. Where would I have gotten so many cabbages from?"

Lydia was right, thought Aewyn. It was stupid of her to think that Lydia had brought them all into the house. What an impractical thought for her to think!

"Well someone must have brought them here," Aewyn remarked, severely. "Cabbages do not simply appear out of nowhere."

A cabbage rolled down the stairs that led to the bedroom and crashed into the other vegetables angrily, as if protesting her point. Aewyn ignored it. One did not listen to the complaints of cabbages, unless one was insane.

"No, my thane," said Lydia. "Cabbages do not appear out of nowhere."

"Certainly not," Aewyn continued. "If cabbages thought they could appear in the world willy-nilly, where would we be then?"

"...where, my thane?"

"In a right pickle, Lydia," Aewyn replied as if it was an obvious answer.

"That's a lot of cabbages," someone called out behind them. A Whiterun guard in the plain yellow colours of the hold uniform. He wandered up to Breezhome, absent-mindedly and toed one with his foot. "I've never seen so many in one place before."

"No," said Lydia.

"Dragonborn? Why do you have so many cabbages?" said the guard, in a friendly, curious manner. Aewyn shot him a look full of deepest sensibility.

"One can plainly see," she said. "That these are _not_ my cabbages."

"Well," said the guard, uncomfortable beneath her piercing gaze. "Whose cabbages are they?"

"I don't know," Aewyn seethed back, hating those three little words. I don't know were not words she said often. There were reasons and logic for everything in the world, and Aewyn understood the patterns that held together Nirn quite perfectly. Even magic could be explained, for Mara's sake.

The cabbages that had spilled out into the street were kicked back into the house. Evidently they could not sleep there tonight, and it would only be practical to rent a room at the Bannered Mare, instead.  
She kicked the last green cabbage inside particularly hard, to get out her frustration, and slammed the door shut before they could fall out again.

She thought she heard a cry of pain, but dismissed it when she could find no source for the noise.

"We shall give the cabbages to the hungry," Aewyn said as a final thought on the matter. The guard offered to get on it right away, eager to help out the Dragonborn, and Aewyn readily accepted. "Problem solved."

"Generous of you, my thane."

"To the Bannered Mare then, Lydia," she said. "Dinner and bed. Forget about this madness for the moment," even though such an irregularity would keep her up half the night, she knew.

"What will you want to eat, my Thane?" said Lydia.

"Anything," said Aewyn, but then she stopped, quite suddenly. "Except for cabbages, Lydia. We've had quite enough of those, for today."

* * *

In the Shivering Isle, the madgod's mad howls could be heard above all others.

"_WHAT_?" Sheograth roared, all righteous anger and uproar. "How can she nae like cabbages?"

"It's unthinkable, my lord," Haskill replied in careful tones. "Perhaps too many cabbages spoil the broth."

"Broth, Haskill? What broth?" The madgod demanded, loudly. "I didn't send the lass broth, I sent her cabbages, do keep up!"

"Right you are, my lord."

"Did you see it Haskill?" the Prince continued, angrily. "She kicked them! My cabbages! My green, cabbage heart, she kicked into her house like it was the back-end of a particularly outspoken Argonian!"

"Perhaps, you should try something else, my lord," Haskill suggested gently, knowing better than to attempt to dissuade the Prince completely. The madgod was never one to be dissuaded in any situation, in fact such dissuasions only served to encourage him. As always, Haskill endeavoured to compromise.

"I shall fishstick for a moment or two," he said. "Or five... no! Make it thirty moments, and then Bob's your aunt. Not your aunt Haskill, my aunt! Everyone's aunt, you understand..." Sheograth settled down to fishstick and closed his mad, mad eyes. "She was right to kick my cabbages," he murmured to himself, fervently. "_Cabbages_! What an insane idea!" And then he laughed as if to demonstrate the insanity of it.

Haskill felt sorry for the Dragonborn. The last few maidens to catch the madgod's eyes hadn't survived. He left his master to fish-stick, and hoped hopelessly, that the next idea mightn't be quite so crazy.

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**And well, that's the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and reviews would be appreciated. (I mean _look _how easy it is to review now! *puppy dog eyes*). **

**Have a splendid day :)**


	2. Chapter Two: A Khajit

**Thank you very much for all the reviews. I was a little amazed that it got fourteen, and I would like to thank everyone that left a message, because it really brightened my day. On that note, I may go back and edit this chapter. It was longer, but I've split it into two, but as such this chapter seems sort of pointless for it. **

**I'm glad people said they liked Aewyn. I think of her as sensible to the point of madness. Hope you enjoy.**

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"Lydia, why is he staring?" Aewyn murmured to her housecarl as they approached the Khajit caravan. Proventus Avennici had approached them with an impressive-looking bounty and Aewyn was never one to turn down easily-made gold. They were at the caravans to purchase extra health potions, it paid to be careful after all, and Aewyn made a point of being both politically correct (by buying from the Khajit) and careful.

"I don't know, my thane," Lydia managed to mumble back, just before they reached Ri'saad, who was well-known to them after years in Skyrim. Aewyn nodded at the Khajit merchant, politely. The Khajit did not reply and didn't meet her eyes, absorbed with places just around her face.

"Sheggorath's mark is strong on this one," he purred, cryptically.

"I beg your pardon?"

Ri'saad's old eyes snapped to her immediately. He bowed his head. "Khajit welcomes your patronage, dragonborn," he replied. "Twice-over, now that the Madgod has accepted you into his fold."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aewyn snapped back, disgruntled.

"You have not made a deal with madness?" Ri'saad frowned at her.

Aewyn stopped and stared a few moments. "I don't condone any types of madness," she said. "That sort of thing is bound to end in tears."

Ri'saad's eyes went back to the air around her. "No?" he rasped, sounding confused. "Your aura is thick with him."

"Him?"

"The Skooma cat," he rumbled and let his voice trail off. "One moment, dragonborn," he told her and heaved himself to a stand. "Ri'saad has just the thing for you."

"Oh," Aewyn stiffened. "Well, I'm really only here to buy potions... er, okay."

They watched on perplexed as Ri'saad shuffled backinto his tent where sounds of rustling and chests being opened could be heard, before a muffled Khajiti curse. They exchanged the confused look with each other and Ri'saad returned with something small and golden clasped in his hands.

"Is that... cheese?" said Lydia.

"What?" said Aewyn and observed it closer. "Ri'saad... Why are you offering me cheese?"

"Enough," he replied, and indeed it was a small roll of cheese within his hands. "Ri'saad gifts you with it," and then Ri'saad's eyes went to the sky again. "There will be a storm tonight. Khajit smells these things."

Aewyn said nothing, not really _knowing _anything polite to reply with. Still, when Ri'saad extended his hands and offered her the cheese, she took it, not wanting to appear rude.

"Leave it by your window when the storm hits," he told her. "As a gesture of goodwill to him."

"Goodwill?" Aewyn turned the cheese back and forth in her hands, extremely perplexed. "I'm not sure I like the idea of leaving cheese in my house for a mad stranger."

"It should please him," Ri'saad smiled back. "The madgod smiles at offerings."

"Are you saying that my thane should offer a mad god cheese?" asked Lydia, frowning, "to keep her from madness?"

"Cannot keep the Skooma cat from anyone," Ri'saad finished, ominously amused. "He is inside all of us—"

"Well, moving on," Aewyn interrupted, a little forcefully. "What have you got for sale, Ri'saad?"

Wisely, Ri'saad kept quiet and beamed politely.

"Take a look."

"Mental, every one of them," Aewyn muttered under her breath as she left, shoving health potions and free cheese in her pack with gusto.

"My thane?" Lydia frowned worriedly at her thane. _She _might have been okay with ignoring all the crazy going-ons that had happened to her as of late, but Lydia was not. Just last week a cow had caught on fire, as the Dragonborn passed through Riverwood. And then, six wolves that had descended on them spontaneously caught on fire, two horses followed simultaneously, that little boy's dog was nothing more than a blackened crisp now...

There was no explaining the dragon they encountered on the road that had perfected the art of 'flying in reverse'. Its wings had carried it away and all the while the dragon's ancient face had seemed to scream in protest. Don't even get Lydia started on the singing Dremora.

It had been garbling a song in some Daedric tongue and the only mortal words Lydia had caught was the phrase "Strawberry torte." They might have been able to find out more, but Aewyn had rather calmly decapitated the Dremora with her battleaxe.

"That Sam Guevanne," she said, airily, wiping the blood of her axe. "He really must return for the staff of his." And that had been the end of matter; with no discussions allowed on any of the events that had passed.

Lydia privately thought that the more her Thane ignored the insane happenings, the more they seemed to increase. They needed to find help, or at least someone who knew what was going on.

"Stop dawdling, Lydia," she heard Aewyn snap. The woman hadn't slept well for the past two weeks, always muttering about cabbages, golden eyes and strange dreams. "You'd be dead six times over if there was a dragon around."

"Unless it flew backwards, like the last one, my thane," Lydia replied, as she came to her decision. Whatever happened tonight, storm or not, she would leave the cheese out. Perhaps if they 'appeased' this madgod, he would let them be. That was, if he hadn't stopped already. Only today could tell. But there had been no strange happenings for six whole days now. It had put her Thane on edge.

"_Lydia_."

"Coming, my thane."

* * *

"She stabbed him," Sanguine was seated in one of many tea-rooms in the Shivering Isles, resplendent in his armour and horns. He had chosen his usual form for that day, instead of gallivanting around in his mortal guise. It was often, however unbecoming, that the two princes would drink. Well Sheograth would scoff cheese and say mad things, and Sanguine would drink. They disguised their meetings under the important title of "allies."

"Through the heart," Sheograth intoned, frighteningly coherent. The Shivering Isles and Sheograth, they were one with each other. The realm had operated at a zealous hush, almost silent these past days, so quiet that other neighbouring Princes sent letters, inquiring what the matter was. Malacath had sent a rather impolite missive stating that he was entitled to Sheograth's realm, should it be found that the madgod had died. Haskill had enjoyed writing the equally impolite reply to _that_.

The last 'courting' gift from Sheograth had been five days ago; a singing Dremora kiss-o-gram. Sanguine's idea, of course. The Dragonborn had listened to the song, at least, though it had been entirely in Daedric and therefore meaningless to her. When it tried to kiss her, she cut its head off with a battleaxe and a surprised scream. Sheograth had been moping ever since and Sanguine had invited himself around to find out what had happened to one of his minions. The Dremora had been one of Sanguine's of course, and he and Sheograth were good allies, as Sheograth's was the madness that sung in Sanguine's heat of the moment. It had been one of minions, because only Sanguine's Dremora were gifted in music or song-making. Haskill couldn't believe that his master had called in an important favour for something such as _this_.

A song for an object of affection...

Sheograth had kept one eye upon this Aewyn, trying to find out what to woo her with and had also enlisted the help of Vaermina to make said object of affection dream of madness. And so it had been that no madness happened upon the mortal realm for a full five days, for Sheograth existed only with one eye open and one eye within a dream.

"What kind of cold bitch stabs a singing daedra through the heart," Sanguine tutted, or slurred really. Drinking like a fish was only one of his many talents.

"She's not a cold bitch," Sheograth protested, waving a hand in the air. He was not so talented at holding his drink, but there was very little difference between a mad god and a drunken mad god anyway. One could not invite Sanguine around without a lot of Cyrodilic Brandy on tap, you know. "I like them very much warm, you understand. The same way I like my Strawberry torte!"

Haskill was almost relieved to find that Sheograth was up and about, sending some people crazy and keeping other's sane. Even receiving other Princely visitors, who were often shy of others entering or of visiting each other's realm. Of course the mad-god was still very much taken with his latest prey. And Sheograth did not send a mortal an inordinate amount of food, unless he really liked them. In any case however, the cabbages had quickly been forgotten by all; by the madgod who had other aspects of his courting campaign to oversee and by Aewyn (who had received a public commendation for donating them to orphanages.) Haskill hadn't forgotten the cabbages of course, for Haskill forgot nothing.

"Of course, of course," Sanguine agreed with the mad-god, hastily. One didn't anger the host if they were a Daedric Prince. "Warm is the very best kind. But, why don't you just take a leaf out of Molag Bal's book?"

"Molag has a book?" Sheograth chirped. "Ol' Molag can read? Write? _Both?_"

"They don't call him the King of Rape for shits and giggles," Sanguine snorted and tipped his head back to drain the last of his brandy.

Haskill had been reading a book when the two princes began to call for him. He knew when Sheograth was about to call him, for it was always when Haskill had found a moment to sit down and read one of his books. The latest book he had been reading was on cats in Skyrim, a boring but pleasant piece.

"HASKIE!" Sheograth boomed.

"HASHKILL!" Sanguine joined in.

Haskill sighed, heavily.

"Yes my lord?" he droned as he traipsed into the tea-room, keeping his eyes ahead of him. It was best not to look around in the Shivering Isles, too much. Not even long-term residents did so. "More strawberry torte? More Cyrodiilic brandy?"

"Fetch me a concubine," Sheograth demanded imperiously. "I have messages to write, men to see about dogs, fingers to stick in pies..."

"Many pies," Sanguine elaborated.

"All _sorts _of pies, Haskill," Sheograth nodded. "Which is why you must fetch me a concubine _post-haste_!"

As Haskill left to get his lord his 'writing materials' he heard the madgod begin to laugh. The madgod laughed for an insane amount of time, for after all a Daedric Prince needs not oxygen and can laugh indefinitely. When Haskill returned they were arguing about Peryites and the finer points of mad cow disease, and the table had somehow been cleared to make way for a life-sized Argonian. Haskill thought it was highly wasteful. Sheograth rarely used the entirety of the concubine to write his messages and they weren't cheap. Still, in moments the Shivering Isles began to live again, and howls could be heard again, and the Isles hummed with it. Sheograth's moods were often wont to change quickly.

"I have come up with a plan," Sheograth announced, pulling over the Argonian concubine and shoving her unceremoniously against the table. "Sanguine where _do _you get these? I can never find them the right shade of silver..."

"A Daedric Prince has his secrets," was the other Prince's shifty reply.

"The plan, my lord?"

"The plan, Haskill! The most splendig, hair-raising, entrail-gripping..." the Prince stopped suddenly, golden eyes going dim. "Entrail-gripping. You know I always lose it at entrails."

"I know, my lord."

"Where was I?" and the madgod tapped his chin. "Here obviously, don't answer Haskill. Here and there and everywhere, I know... I know; aha!"

"My lord?"

"Haskill, my plan," said Sheograth, his eyes wandering back to the concubine-messages written in his most meticulous hand-writing. "In which I woo the lady fair. Or the fairy lad, I forget after so many days."

"The lady fair, I believe," replied Haskill, cautiously.

"Don't want no not fair lady," slurred Sanguine, wisely, with a leer at the Argonian concubine. "Lifts-her-tail. Oh, I remember her well."

"Indeed."

"The plan, my lord?"

"Now, what is it about entrail-gripping that's just so appealing?" the madgod stopped his writing to ponder the matter, over the sounds of discomfort from the Argonian. "Is it the entrails? Is it the gripping? I haven't the foggiest."

"Lord Sheograth—"

"Not now Haskill!" Sheograth remarked hotly and flailed his hand at the poor Argonian woman stretched across his desk. "I have messages to compose and Argonian blood dries so very quickly."

"She dreams of dancing," Sanguine told Haskill, tipping his head back again and trying to encourage the Argonian-shaped letter to fondle his horns. Everytime her arms moved however, Sheograth tutted and pinned her back down again. He had a _letter _to write!

"I'll make her dance for you, mad-god."

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**I'll be putting the next half up within the next twenty-four hours. Please review and have a splendid day : ) **


	3. Chapter Three: Dancing with Orcs

**Today, when playing Skyrim. I had the urge to reverse pickpocket a Talos Amulet onto Ondolemar's(?) person. I didn't, though. I was somewhat convinced that all hell would break loose, if I did? Which was odd.**

**I keep missing the _o _in _Sheog_o_rath_. And my eyes just skim over his name. I made an effort to spell his name properly in this chapter, though he's in it for about two seconds. Sorry about that. Also, may go back and edit this. Edited it again and again and again. Still, I hope you enjoy, and thank you very much for the supportive review C: **

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A thin, sour rain was doing a very good job of being a pain in the ass. It dribbled down the backs of people's necks, not quite heavy enough to be normal rain. It was enough rain, however, to make Lydia worry.

She looked over at her Thane, all foreboding frowns and high cheekbones and tense limbs. "The khajit was right," she ventured, cautiously. "A storm _is _coming."

To her credit, Aewyn ignored her elegantly with a minimum amount of scowling and/or scoffing. She simply lifted her chin a bit higher, as if relishing any challenge a mad god might set in her way and walked a bit faster so that Lydia had a hard time keeping up. Stubborn Thane and her stupid long legs...

"Didn't you hear me, my Thane?" Lydia's voice rose to a volume that couldn't be ignored. "I said the Khajit was right. A storm—"

"Yes, I heard what you said, thank you Lydia," Aewyn grouched back, irritably. She did not look her normal, impeccable self. There was a tightness about her mouth and shadows under her eyes. Aewyn had remarked to Lydia that she was having trouble sleeping, but hadn't elaborated. In the few years they had been travelling together, they did not confide in each other much. The Dragonborn was a prickly person by nature, someone you had to really work to get to know, and work even harder to like. They had a fondness for each other however, and Lydia felt she could get Aewyn to start accepting the recent 'episodes' if she prodded just a little bit more. Aewyn felt some affection or loyalty for her obviously, because she didn't cart around Argis of Markath. Lydia secretly referred to Argis as 'the _other _housecarl'.

"Well, don't you think...," Lydia began, choosing her words carefully. She wouldn't directly mention madness, or any supposed 'Prince of Madness', because that would just send Aewyn into a rant against insane things.

"Think? Of course, I think," Aewyn replied, sarcastically. "I like to think that I think a great deal more than others. Do I think what, Lydia?"

"Well, don't you think that Ri'saad may have been right about _other _things," a lame way of putting it perhaps, but there were worse ways to put it.

"Other things?" she said. "No, I don't think so."

"I do."

"Well, you _are_ a funny one, aren't you," Aewyn snipped back, in typical hypocritical fashion. "You _would _think that he was right about _other _things." She said _other _like it was the worst word in Nirn, including all Daedric swears and pirate slang.

"I do think that, yes," Lydia shot back, deciding not to back down. "And the sooner you come to believe that an answer might lie in this Mad God's direction, the better."

"My thane," she tacked on to the end of her sentence, hesitant and sulky.

"Enough of this," Aewyn frowned back at her, but Lydia was pleased to see that her thane's golden eyes didn't look anywhere in her direction. "We've got bandits to look out for."

Lydia couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding when the heaven's began to open up, and the rain began to pour harder. Later on she would pinpoint that second, as the moment where the sanity began to disappear faster than a Talos worshipper in Markarth. And _they _disappeared by the barrel.

That day, the episodes became far too strange to ignore.

* * *

Aewyn wished that the Jarl would bother to put some sort of description upon the bounties. Even if it was just the bandit chief's race. If she had known that the chief bandits of _this _particular bandit camp were all orcs, twice her width, and all of them tall enough to look an Altmer in the eye, she might have stopped to plan; instead of waltzing through a bandit camp and annihilating everyone, as she was wont to do.

She might have donned a stronger armour, too. Brought a sharper axe. It was notoriously hard to decapitate orcs. Probably because of their _thick _skulls.

"Never should have come here," one of them grunted at her. Aewyn didn't entirely approve of the predatory expression in the bandit's yellow eyes. Then again, when did one ever approve of the look in a bandit's eyes? The expression was hardly ever anything but rapacious.

Enough of that, however. It was time to run and formulate a plan.

Aewyn blurted a hasty _FUS _and then choked out a _RO _and a _DAH_, pleased that it staggered all five of them. There wasn't enough time to congratulate herself before Lydia yanked her wrist, her steel-plated gauntlet chafing against her skin and began dragging her away from the bandits before they could begin to recover.

"Where did the high elf bitch go?" she heard one of them grunt, perilously close. They had the rather flimsy protection of a large boulder to formulate a plan behind. It was one of those stupid open-air bandit camps and Aewyn much preferred the criminals who holed themselves up in caves. It was much easier to sneak in and cut throats that way.

"What sort of magic was that?" another muttered.

"I could burn them," Aewyn whisper-hissed to Lydia, quietly. "I know a shout—"

"No, remember what Master Arngeir said," Lydia snapped back. "You know what you get like when you shout."

"Nonsense," Aewyn snorted back.

"What did he say?"

Aewyn gave her a filthy look. "Shouting for dragons and weapons or magic for mortals," she recited in a disdainful, hushed voice. "Even, if we've blundered and walked straight into a death trap. Tell me Lydia, did Arngeir have a specification for which mode of death I used for Dwemer machines? I can't _quite _remember."

"My _thane_—"

"What do we do now, if I can't use a shout?" Aewyn cut her off, enunciating each word that dripped with indignance. "Offer up that ridiculous cheese and ask this _Mad _God for help?"

"No, I—"

"We _think_," Aewyn growled at her, but it had been hard to think lately. All those strange dreams of eyes watching her; sometimes golden, sometimes white... Mad dreams, where shadows asked her if she liked strawberry desserts, or narwhales... whatever those were. Dreams that told her that they knew she wasn't _nearly_ as sane nor sensible as she would have liked herself (and everyone else) to believe. "Intelligence is the truest weapon, even in a base country of Skyrim."

"How nice of you to call Skyrim that," Lydia retorted, much less polite when the imminent threat of pain or death lingered (as Aewyn had found in many a ruin). "A _base _country, the country you bleed and fight dragons for."

"The country you bleed and fight dragons for, _my thane_," Aewyn snipped back.

"What was that?" one of the Orcish bandits growled.

"Shit."

"Language, Lydia."

"What?"

"I'm going to use a shout. I'm not fighting off five Orcs. _Really_."

"...fine!"

"Over here!" They had been found. The rain was really beginning to pelt down now, every droplet like a fierce spike. Ri'saad had spoken of Mad Gods and storms. The golden eyes were watching her, gold, white and purple, she could see those colours in her mind.

"Now would be a good time to interfere in my life, you mad bastard," she growled at the rain, already focusing on the flow of her breathing through her throat and lungs. Prepared to shout the thick, Orcish oafs into Oblivion.

And then? The mad god interfered.

The Chiefest of the Chief Bandits had been mid-swing.

Dragonbon had been mid-shout.

Lydia had been mid-scream. But _she preferred the term 'mid-high-pitched-battle-cry' thank you very much._

Everything had been, well, mid-everything, when Sheogorath (and Sanguine) interfered. Aewyn's shout died in her throat and the Orc's arms shuddered as if he could no longer hold up the cruel-looking warhammer he wielded. If you had the sort of ears that could hear such things, you might have heard the Daedric Prince of Debauchery whisper.

_"A gift for you, madgod."_

"Wuh..." the chief Orc began, his face turning several shades darker than before with the effort. The warhammer fell from his hands as he staggered backwards and then forwards again, like he was trying to fight himself and failing. "Wuh... _wuh..._"

"What?" Aewyn took his sudden attack of apparent brain fever to back up a few good paces and focus her breath for a shout again. She didn't like to think that any sort of mad god had actually listened to her, or what it could mean.

"Stand down!" The bandit managed at last, spitting out the command to his brothers-in-arms who had all lowered their weapons in confusion. They stared at him in disbelief, eyes squinting against the heavy, pelting rain and rumbling of thunder.

"Ralakh—"

"_Stand_. Down," the Orc demanded, viciously. "Stand down or die!" They were an obedient lot, and set down their weapons immediately. Aewyn refused to wonder what was going on here and settled for taking a few more steps away, Lydia following her lead. They could re-group and formulate a plan, so long as the brain fever kept at it. Aewyn stopped completely when the bandit whirled back around, staggering and stalling like a drunken fool, as if he wasn't used to his body and looked directly at her.

"Would," he said, but even to Aewyn and Lydia who didn't know him, his voice sounded changed. Fear was written plainly across everyone's faces. Even Aewyn, who rarely wore any sort of expression other than mild weariness, looked shaken. "Would," he said again. "Would _you_," the Orc's voice and the changed voice chopped and changed a few times. "Would the Altmer... care to dance?"

"W..." Aewyn actually choked. The oh great and mighty Dovahkiin _dropped _her battleaxe. It fell with a loud clanking noise that could be heard over the rain and the thunder and landed somewhere to her left.

Hadn't been expecting that.

"Would you?" the Orc asked again, his eyes distant. "Would you?"

"Not really," she said, trying to stand her ground when the possessed mer lumbered forwards. She couldn't help herself, she _squeaked _and retreated further when the Orc flopped forwards and extended his hand.

Oh, she didn't like that.

"I insist," he insisted and the words thrummed with a hidden power that left Aewyn uneasy, yet excited. And, strangely enough...

Wanting to dance. She'd had a strange dream recently, you know. Of dancing...

And really, Aewyn didn't know what came over her, which annoyed her; the Dovahkiin must know _all _things, else how is she all-powerful? You aren't all-powerful, she told herself as something seemed to pull her body towards the Orc's and place her small hand in his calloused palms. He stunk like a bandit that was for sure. He stunk of blood, sweat, earth and a scent that was revoltingly Orcish in origin. The Dragonborn was known for being a clean person and anyone who had seen her neatly skin a cave bear might attest to that, but she didn't seem to mind the stench or the dirty hands. When re-telling the story later in Solitude to one of the '_other _housecarls', Lydia would say that it was as if Aewyn was in a dream, or a frenzy; that her eyes were just as blank as the bandit's.

In any case, they danced. Not very well, but it was inarguably some mangled form of a waltz.

She could hear music above the rain as they fell into a clumsy two-step, her and the blank-eyed Orc. Soft, high flutes and beautiful voices that gave her heart pangs and made her think of gorgeous Summerset Isles and the place that was home before Skyrim. It made her think of seas of beautiful, golden faces and coming-of-age balls. It made her think of every hedonistic urge she had ever indulged in, which were few but wild, before she came to Skyrim and was sensible. Nearly being executed does that to you, you know. Makes you sensible. Sometimes the opposite. She would know.

Who knew what music the Orc heard... probably coarse drums and some incomprehensible grunting.

That might have been the case, for their dancing was clumsy when they came together. Aewyn was trying to remember Summerset tunes from her youth, and the Orc was a savage warrior, not some Altmer courtier. All the same, it was nice to be twirled round and around again and to turn her face up to the storm and smile at the sky. It was nice to ignore Lydia's shocked gaze and the stunned, unsure faces of the bandits and close her eyes. It was nice, when she closed her eyes, to see purple, white and gold. To hear laughter. She was twirled again, under his arm, dipped and spun and held close. It couldn't have lasted much longer, or perhaps it could have. Maybe it might have lasted indefinitely and they'd have danced themselves into an odd, ridiculous death. That sounded like something a madgod or a Daedric Prince might do to get their kicks.

As it was, one of the other Orc's began to swear loudly and ask 'Ralakh' what in Oblivion he was playing at. An Orc hurling filthy curse words in your general direction is a sure way to break any spell, even one of Sanguine's making.

It was a mad idea, but the madgod was... well, mad. It had entertained him, to see the graceful Altmer and the bullish Orc prance about like they were in some Breton court and in their clanking, steel armour. It did the job, didn't it? She had asked the madgod for help, and he'd bloody well given it to her! In typical insane fashion, of course.

The Orc had no drive to kill her anymore. He suffered some mental trauma, having no rhyme or reason with which to explain the last ten minutes of an uninterrupted two-step and ended much like he had began.

"Wuh..." he stammered. "Wuh... wuh... what?" And promptly collapsed.

One might think that there was no such thing as an awkward silence in the middle of a barren Whiterun plain. But if one thought that, one would be wrong. An awkward silence reigned supreme. Aewyn was often ready on-hand with some witty or sensible comment on any sort of situation. Instead of being herself however, she simply gaped a bit. Like a slaughterfish on land, but with less teeth.

"What magic did you use on him, elf?" One of the other bandits demanded, but didn't move to re-draw his weapon. He hung back warily, and his brothers stood away with him.

Aewyn didn't reply. She stared mistily at the collapsed limbs of the Orc as if she couldn't quite remember where she was. Or she could, but certainly didn't want to.

"Stupid Khajit," was all she said.

It was Lydia who stepped in to smooth out the situation.

"She could kill you," the housecarl told them. "With any kind of her magic... but she's not going to!" she added, hastily. The Orc's didn't move much at that anyway, still watching Aewyn watching their leader with the expression one wears during a mental breakdown.

"My companion and I are going to leave this place," Lydia said in a slow, cautious manner. "And you and your companions are going to leave this place... and we are both going to forget this place ever existed."

"And the events that happened," One of the bandits replied, voice dark and guttural in accent.

"Agreed," said Lydia. They might have shaken hands on it, but the memory of their leaders twirling madly through the rain to unheard music was still fresh in their mind. No, there would be no hand-touching of any kind for quite some time, on either side.

The Orc's left with their shield-brother in tow, which was no easy feat considering his size. Lydia stepped across to wear her thane still stood, frowning inwardly, and bent to pick up the fallen battleaxe. Aewyn looked at the sky and then back at the ground.

She looked up again, not quite knowing what direction in which to thank, or even if she should be thanking anyone. Crazy things had to happen sometimes, and it may have been mere coincidence that crazy things had been happening to her. All within a short period of time, with no other explanation other than that of a few vague ramblings of an old Khajit and a wheel of cheese.

Where did a Daedric Prince reside? In the heavens? Below? Eventually Aewyn's eyes rested on Lydia's back where the cheese still resided in her pack. Lydia was grappling with the wet hilt of the battleaxe and swearing to herself. Lots of crazy things happened to Aewyn, even before they had gotten crazier. It was in everyone's best interest to pretend they didn't happen for a few hours, before discussing them.

"Thank you," Aewyn grunted at the pack, at a bulge she assumed was the madgod's offering-to-be. "If it _was _you and the Orc didn't suffer from some disease of the brain. Or just liked to dance."

"What was that, my thane?"

"I said hurry up. You're walking far too slowly, Lydia," Aewyn snapped and drew herself up to her full height. "Some of us want to get back before dinner, you know."

"You were dancing," Lydia mocked her back, some time later. "You were dancing with an Orc bandit. And now you're reporting back to Whiterun that you killed him. That's not very _sensible_."

"You were dancing, _my thane_," Aewyn shot back. "Now mind your manners, Lydia. I have _other _housecarls to do my bidding."

"Lucky me..." Lydia whispered.

Aewyn walked ahead of Lydia so she didn't have to look at the pack anymore. She didn't say anything all the way home, no matter how many references Lydia might make to books on Daedric Princes or dancing or any compliments she might make on Aewyn's dancing abilities.

* * *

Later on her cheek's flushed pink from the fire she noticed it was still raining. A storm really had made it's way over Whiterun, and quite possibly the Mad God had saved her life today. He deserved the cheese, she supposed, and it would be sensible to leave out the offering as a thank you. It would be wise. Prudent, even.

And Lydia was having her bath, so she wouldn't have to bear any mocking comments, either.

Stupid Khajit. Stupid madgod. Stupid dancing. Stupid cheese.

Aewyn shoved the cheese on the windowsill, wondering what on Nirn this was supposed to do. And how this madgod could even get a hold of it. It wasn't as if a Daedric Prince could just waltz into her home and take it, maybe leave a note saying '_you're welcome' _before waltzing back out again.

It didn't matter. The cheese would still be there in the morning and Aewyn would find Arcadia and ask her about the nature of brain diseases when she woke up.

The Dragonborn fled upstairs, feeling stupid.

Haskill received an order from Sheogorath not soon after. He wanted the Orc brought to the Shivering Isles and sent quite insane, preferably in the Dementia area.

No one tried to kill Sheogorath's latest object of affection, except for Sheogorath!

* * *

**It was one of my first ideas, to have Sheogorath and Sanguine save her life by making the bandit's dance instead of kill her. I figure if Molag Bal can lock doors and possess Vigil of Stendarr types, then Sanguine can _make _people dance. It could be better, it could be worse. It's certainly an insane way to court someone, so I thought it befitted the mad god. Reviews loved, adored, cared for C:**


	4. Chapter Four: Too Much Silk

**Sorry for such a long wait, and sorry that this chapter probably doesn't quite make up for it. I was trying out this other idea I had for a Skyrim fanfic involving Aewyn, and it was my birthday and things! I was busy with life, for once. **

**In fact, yesterday I chatted up a splendid-looking man with Elder Scrolls talk. Oh Skyrim, is there anything you can't do? Also, I killed every killable Argonian in-game. I'm sorry, but I have no regrets.**

**Hope you enjoy! Next chapter soon, I think!**

* * *

No one who knew the Dragonborn truly believed that she was sensible, and so world-weary Lydia was not surprised to see her thane pressed against the front door that morning and peering through a crack in the door.

"Lydia," said Aewyn without turning round. "You're finally up. I need you."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Spying," Aewyn replied, simply. "There's an Argonian outside in far too much silk."

Too early for this, Lydia told herself. Too early.

"Oh?"

"She's been watching the house for a full fifteen minutes, and knocked just before that."

Lydia went straight to the cupboards of the (cabbage-free) Breezhome kitchen and grabbed a generous-sized bottle of cheap Nord Mead. It was best to start drinking early in the morning these days, _before _her Thane could give her a headache.

The cork made a soft popping sound and Lydia was glad Aewyn didn't see her remove it from the bottle with her teeth; an action which would surely lead to a lecture from the well-raised Altmer. "...why don't you answer the door?" she said.

"Why don't I answer? Ha! Indeed," Aewyn muttered back.

"...well?"

"Hm?" Golden eyes turned to survey the sleepy, half-dressed Lydia and rested on the bottle of mead disapprovingly. "Because I don't know her, Lydia; because she's an Argonian; because she looks absolutely..." Aewyn stopped and her whole body stiffened; even the skirts of her casual non-dragon-slaying dress seemed to still.

Lydia walked over to the door and Aewyn allowed her to place her eye against the crack and observe the stranger who watched their home. It seemed Aewyn hadn't suffered a mental breakdown in the night and begun suffering delusions. There really was an Argonian woman watching them outside, as dutifully as a dog some might say. And she really was dressed in too much silk.

"Insane?" Lydia finished for her. "Absolutely barking mad?"

"Quite..."

Lydia glanced over at the resting place of Ri'saad's cheese and wondered if the old Khajit had been pulling their leg, or going mad in his old age. There had been a slight storm in the night, but the cheese had remained in place, yellow, probably slightly stale by now, and completely innocuous.

Still, she had the sinking feeling that the silkily-clad scale-back might just be about to change all that. Lydia tried to open the door but her Thane's foot kept it shut. Almost. The door rattled loudly and the Argonian's head snapped up at the sound. The both of them tensed up as if they'd just been detected by a nasty group of Forsworn, or something equally nefarious.

Moments later the lizard knocked.

.

.

.

"Dragonborn?" the visitor rasped and knocked again.

"...I'm busy. Come back later."

"...this cannot wait, Dragonborn," was the reply. "I have a message for you."

_"My Thane, it could be important!"_

_"I don't think so, Lydia!"_

_"Open the door..."_

_"You do not order _me _about, Lydia. _I _order _you!"

"_Don't you think this could be something to do with the cheese?"_

_"I'm sorry? Lydia you're suggestion sounds completely insane."_

_"..._precisely, _my thane!"_

_ "Look, I don't want to!"_

_"Sometimes in life, my thane, we must do things that we don't want to!"_

_"Lydia, no-!" _

The door was wrenched open and if an Argonian had proper eyebrows to raise, they would have been very high at this moment. Luckily for Aewyn it seemed the street that her home over-looked was empty for the moment and no one was around to observe the strange Argonian, the half-dressed Lydia or her expression, which closely resembled that of near-nervous-breakdown. The denizens of Whiterun did love a good bit of gossip, and such an observation would have been gold.

"Good morning," Aewyn said, trying to pretend that she hadn't been refusing to open the door in a hushed whisper and worrying her sore foot against the back of her calf. "Was there something you needed, madam?"

"Only the Dragonborn's presence," the Argonian replied, graciously, peering over Aewyn's shoulder. "May I come in?"

"No—"

"Of course."

"_Lydia_..."

"Thank you," said the silk-swathed visitor, choosing to ignore Aewyn's outburst and stepped neatly into the home. The door was shut quickly behind her. Lydia led the Argonian past the empty hearth and over to the dining table whilst Aewyn twitchily busied herself with an extra plate and a goblet.

"Did you have much trouble finding us?" Lydia attempted conversation to cover up Aewyn's ramblings about rudeness and early-morning visitors. "Not many were aware that the Dragonborn was in Whiterun..."

"My Master is aware of many things that mere mortals are not," the Argonian replied dismissively, cryptically, and effectively silenced any more questions. She accepted the goblet filled with some hastily found spiced wine but declined any food.

"What..." Aewyn began, steadily, and quickly drained her own cup. "What business do you have with us?"

The Argonian fixed her with proud, reptilian eyes. "I am Firm-Figure," she announced imperiously to the room, "one of the most renowned and prized concubines that Black Marsh has to offer. I come bearing an important message for the Dragonborn..." her gaze moved to Lydia. "Which of you is Dragonborn?"

"She is!"

"M_y thane.._."

"... I am," Aewyn corrected herself, some moments later. "What message do you have for me? Quickly, I'm a busy woman."

It was then that the Argonian stood up, and began to disrobe. Undress. Become naked.

_Dear, sweet, Dragonborn..._

* * *

"Do you have a reply for my master?" The Argonian asked as she pulled her silk garments back on and tied her belt firmly at the waist. "He expects one." Fine-Figure seemed oblivious to the way that Lydia and Aewyn looked everywhere but her as she did up the final button of her collar.

"N-not just yet, no," Aewyn replied, weakly.

"He left space upon the posterior precisely for your reply," Fine-Figure told her in severe tones. "One does not spurn my master lightly."

"I don't have one," Aewyn continued. "I've got to check my schedule and I'm not sure I've even heard of your master before... it's quite... quite improper of him to send such a message."

"Haven't heard of him?" Fine-Figure sounded outraged.

"No," Aewyn replied lightly, "who... who is he, pardon?"

"Sheogorath," Fine-Figure told her in tones that were far too amorous. "The Mad God, The Skooma Cat, the Daedric Prince of-"

"Nope. Never heard of him. Why is he sending me correspondence?" Aewyn cut her off, sounding almost frantic. "I don't think I owe him money or anything, it's awfully rude to send correspondence to someone you've not been properly introduced to, goodbye now..."

"But _you _sent the first message, madam," Fine-Figure told her, bossily, and crossed the room to the windowsill where the cheese still sat, as mundane and normal as ever. "And the Lord Sheogorath smiled upon your offering."

"No, he did," Aewyn argued back. "There were the cabbages, the combusting animals, the _singing _Dremoras, the dancing Orcs..."

"True," the Argonian said. "He has been trying to contact you for some time."

"Oh."

"It is a shame you felt the need to decapitate the Dremora," Fine-Figure continued. "He possessed such a wonderful tenor."

"...indeed..."

Fine-Figure seemed to take pity upon the Dragonborn then, for the cheese was stowed away inside one of the many silky folds of her robe and she made her way back towards them. Then, Fine-Figure closed the gap between herself and Aewyn and kissed her on each cheek. Aewyn shuddered at the raspy feeling of scales against her skin, but smiled as politely as she could when Fine-Figure drew back.

"As I said," the Argonian told her. "Lord Sheogorath smiles upon your offering, Dragonborn. He expects you soon."

"Please leave now."

Fine-Figure left. Silence reigned for sometime in the Breezhome living room.

"I have seen more Argonian Physiology than I would care for in several lifetimes..." Aewyn said at last.

"What kind of madman writes a message on an Argonian concubines back?" Lydia continued, softly.

"The Prince of madmen, obviously," was Aewyn's bitter reply.

"_Many thanks for the gift_... _Cheese, my favourite!_" Lydia quoted the message that had been carved into Fine-Figure's back with the utmost care, letting each word bury itself into her thane's skull. "_How did you know?_"

"Ri'saad," Aewyn growled to herself.

"_I know you have enjoyed the gifts I bestowed upon you; I've seen it in your very soul. Your lack of reply was almost maddening, but thankfully one can not get madder than the madgod. Unless one is the mad hatter of course, but I got rid of him years ago..." _

"How hard you must have been studying Fine-Figure's back to memorise the message so well," the Dragonborn spat.

"My thane," Lydia replied. "He sounds..."

"Positively—"

"No—"

"_Infatuated_..."

_ "_Stop talking_."_

_"_Almost—_"_

"Gods, stop talking."

_"Madly _in love!"

"Lydia that is enough from you now, do you hear?!"

"The Daedric Prince of Madness asked you out on a date," Lydia continued, ignoring all of poor Dragonborn's protests. "That's... mental."

"Yes well, I'm not going."

"What?"

"You heard," Aewyn frowned at her, almost disdainfully. "I don't even know where the Pelagius Wing is..."

"I do," Lydia met her eyes defiantly. "In Solitude. You should go."

"I'm not going without you, Lydia."

"Fine."

"_Fine_!"

Three hours later they hired a cart to Solitude. Lydia asked Aewyn if she was going to do anything pretty with her hair.

Aewyn smacked her.

* * *

**It's short, but it was one of those chapters where I felt putting in the next bit would kind of ruin it. Might go back and edit this one though, seeing as I didn't really look over it. Just wanted to publish it, before the gap between the last chapter got any longer.**

**A review would be extremely magnificent, you know. And it would make _you _awfully magnificent, too.**

**Next chapter: Sheogorath and Aewyn meet face-to-face! SHENANIGANS.**


	5. Chapter Five: Aewyn in Solitude

**I did, in fact, intend to update far earlier, but laptops were broken and life paths were changed and all and sundry got mixed up. But, let's not get in tizzies over things that should have been earlier, and just appreciate the here and now! Chapter Five!**

_**Oh, and of course a massive thank you to all who have reviewed since last I updated. I have no idea if I've replied to them or not, so this is a collective thank you for those... can't believe I have so many for this silly fic! Lots of passionate love to all of you (in a totally platonic way.) **_

* * *

Aewyn simply kept putting one foot in front of the other. It helped her tired mind, not to think on anything but feet. For a short while, anyway. Before long she found herself on a long internal rant about them. Her poor feet! Feet that should have stayed in Alinor, being rubbed and perfumed by servants! Feet that had only ever known the physical exertion of a long night of dancing! Feet that slowly led her, one step, two step, up the short hill to Solitude regardless of any doubts on her part. Yes. Horrid, traitorous feet.

And not an Altmer woman's feet, she noted, not anymore. In this day and age, Aewyn almost defied that heady stereotype. Other denizens of Skyrim might have seen that as positive, but Aewyn saw it akin to social suicide. She would never be welcomed back home to Summerset. now! Actually, she had probably blown that chance a long time ago, sneaking into the Thalmor Embassy... The point was that these days Aewyn was more likely to wield a battleaxe than she was to cast a spell; these days she would rather fight with a Nord, than against one; and worst of all, she had grown to _prefer _a fight to a little bit of subterfuge and schmoozing. Finally, of course, there was the fact that she was being courted (or at least He was attempting to court) by a Daedric Lord.

Did that mean her standard was going up or down?

It was all Lydia's fault! Aewyn decided, reverting back to the comforting thought that a Thane could always blame everything on the housecarl. It was Lydia that was making her feel frustrated, and ranty about feet and other inane things. And the fact that she hadn't washed her hair, but that couldn't be helped. It was mainly Lydia. Lydia, who was like many of her Nordic brethren: loud-mouthed and of the belief that the world cared to hear their internal monologues. She pondered aloud over all the things that Aewyn had hoped to forget along the journey. She wondered over the contents of His message, etiquette when meeting socially with a Daedric Prince (_"Who knows what's proper?") _and then, most annoying of all, what it was Aewyn would wear.

"What I have on now will suit me just fine," Aewyn had told her. Their cart-driver had cast a wary look back at them, then. He had quickly begun to regret driving the haughty mer and her companion, and even more so as the journey wore on. He caught only snatches of the conversation, but they were enough to scare him. Words such as "Sheogorath," "Insane," and "Bloody naked Argonian!" drifted towards his ears. He wasn't sure that he was entirely comfortable with it.

"No it won't," insisted Lydia. "The occasion calls for something more formal than a black robe, my Thane." And Lydia would know. She had served the last Thane of Whiterun before they ran off to Daggerfall with one of Hulda's barmaids, and had an idea of etiquette that was above-average for a Nord.

Of course, her Thane had chosen the most shapeless, blackest piece of clothing that she owned for the date. And Lydia had no qualms calling it a date, for that was what it seemed to be. It made her golden skin seem yellow and sickly, though that may have been the lack of sleep, and the hem was coated in dried mud, blood and quite possibly dragon-spittle.

"If _He _wants a... a meeting that badly!" Aewyn had replied. "Then my clothes shall not matter, Lydia!"

The subject had been dropped, for the last few hours to Solitude, but Lydia had begun to fill up the silence with all sorts of babble again. "I'm sure the two high elves who run the clothes shop, could tailor something for you," she began, warily. "Won't you think of something to wear?"

"A mammoth-skin robe over some fishing waders," Aewyn snapped, sarcastically. "Something insane would work perfectly, I warrant."

"Welcome to Solitude, miss," one of the guards intoned as they reached the main gates to Solitude. Aewyn stepped smartly inside the Hold proper, drawing herself up haughtily, and allowed Lydia to propel her ever further to her doom. Really? Was here any way a supposed date with _Him_, could go well? No really... was there? She was desperate to know! Somebody had to answer her!

Now would be a time, she mused, for 'Father' Akatosh to get all protective and give Lord Sheogorath a stern talking-to. Most opportune. Not that the Daedric Prince would care to listen to the Divine. Besides, she doubted that Akatosh truly cared that much about her safety anyway, and let alone her virtue. He was the god that had gotten her into this bloody mess in the first place! Throwing dragons and prophecies in her path and what-not.

Aewyn looked up to the sky with wry humour. "I doubt you'll win a Father of the Year award, any time soon," she told Akatosh. She wasn't so mad as to expect a reply, of course. Still, a group of children watched her as she strode past, whispering furiously.

"Why is the Elf-Thane talkin' to the clouds?"

"Crazy."

"S'true. Ma says she's mental and that I'm not to go near her."

Mental? Aewyn mulled the word over in her head and couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up from her throat and sent the children skittering away with more whispered question. A guard gave her a wide berth as he passed.

"My Thane?" Lydia kept her face commendably even.

"Hm?" Aewyn's golden eyes met hers as she laughed blackly. "You heard, Lydia. From the mouths of children, no less! I'm mental, apparently. So really... Lord Sheogorath and I are a match made in heaven," and then, she paused, looking slightly abased. "Sovngarde? Oblivion? Shor's bones, we're a match made in something!"

Lydia blinked at her.

"I mean, two of a kind!" her Thane explained with a resigned sigh. Resigned to Lydia's lack of understanding, resigned to her fate of "Death by Angry, Rejected Daedric Prince".

"I knew what you meant, my Thane, " Lydia replied softly and let her hand rest against the Altmer's soldier in a gesture of comfort. She took it as a positive sign that Aewyn didn't shake it off. Her breathing became more even, and she tilted her chin up so that she suddenly had the bearing of a challenging high elf, once more.

Lydia was secretly of the thought, that if anyone could tell of a Daedric Prince, and get away with it, it was Aewyn.

* * *

They passed Taarie along their way to Proudspire Manor, where Lydia was going to make her Thane some hot Valerian Root Tea (Imported from Daggerfall. Being a Dragonborn had perks.) and prepare her a bath to soothe her nerves. And, of course, be a better housecarl than whatever-her-name-was of Solitude! Lydia grumbled jealously to herself, and was just about to stop Taarie and ask how quick she could make a dress when the high elf stopped before them.

"My poor, kinswoman!" Taarie exclaimed, upon seeing Aewyn dressed in her dingy black robe. She approached them with her arms outstretched as if to tug at the robe despairingly, but thought better of it and returned them to her sides. "If I had known such a tragedy had befallen you," she told Aewyn. "I might have given you a discount!"

"Befallen me?"

"Well I assume something awful must have happened, for you to be dressed in such a manner," Taarie sounded almost reproachful. "A dragon burned all of your clothes, I suppose? Comes from living in Whiterun, too cheap! All wood! Or perhaps bandits stole your pack... something tragic," she waved her hand. "After all, an Altmer of your breeding is always impeccable. Dragonborn or not!"

"Oh, yes," Aewyn's mouth twitched into a sort of amused grimace. "A tragedy, of sorts, kinswoman."

"And it would explain that Argonian in the shop earlier," Taarie continued, almost to herself. "Jaree-Ra looked as if all his name-days had come at once," she added, conspiratorially. "Why else would you order practically from the shop, my sister asked me? And send someone else to do it for you..."

The Altmer seamstress did not seem to notice the way both Lydia and Aewyn had exchanged a glance with each other- and had seemed to have completely frozen. Lydia was the first to ready herself, turning rather jerkily to Taarie and asking:

"Was the Argonian, a female?" she asked, sounding almost (almost) amused.

"Perhaps... Perhaps, dressed in too much silk?" Aewyn finished for her, in a brittle voice.

"Oh, you can never wear too much silk," Taarie waved her hand at them again, dismissively. "But an Argonian of that description came to the shop and ordered almost all of my dresses in stock to be delivered to Proudspire... You did send her, didn't you?"

"Of course she ordered it all!" Aewyn declared suddenly, and loudly, laughing in a way that didn't sound at all amused. "_He_ thinks of everything, does He not?!"

She threw her hands in the air. Most uncharacteristic. "If the bitch is still there, I'll fry her scales off!" she growled and began storming away from her housecarl and Taarie, continuing to mutter in a way that might have gotten another sectioned at a temple of Kynareth.

"It's been a long week for her," Lydia fibbed, quickly. What with the, er, the tragedy, and all."

"Of course," was Taarie's demure reply. She tried to smooth her face into an unconcerned and proper expression."Give the Dragonborn my kind regards, won't you. Her tragedy is going to keep my sister and I in business, for a long time."

It was reported in the inn later on that Jaree-Ra had attempted to stop the Dragonborn on her fevered route to Proudspire Manor.

"I couldn't help but over-hear," Jaree-Ra had been reported to say. "That you're acquainted with the lovely Argonian woman that arrived earlier this morning..."

There were also reports of smacking, and a good deal of screaming, it was said.

Beautiful dresses were laid out all over the grand bed of Proudspire Manor. Fortunately for her, Fine-Figure had already left some few days ago, back to the Shivering Isles, that which she had called home for almost a century. They were in a multitude of colours. It was true indeed, that Taarie had used up almost every bolt of fabric (the expensive ones at least) in her shop, making them. There were seven dresses in all, Aewyn counted them, and wondered if there was any significance to that. Probably not. It was probably just a mad random number, she suggested to herself. _Or, _more reasonably, it was as many dresses as Taarie could make in such a short amount of time- and she was going mental.

"Move them," she commanded to her housecarls, yes they had turned plural unfortunately.

Jordis, or one of the Other Housecarls, as Lydia called them, moved forwards to gather them in her arms. So did Lydia. To be honest, Aewyn found the ripping sound quite satisfying even as her two housecarls began to throw apologies at her and fingers of blame at each other.

"It was a horrible colour, anyway," she cut them off, crisply. And it had been; a sort of glowing spriggan-green that was all expense and no taste. Without further ado she flung herself onto the bed and let out a frustrated growl that was muffled by the fluffy pillows. Jordis jumped, which made Lydia feel a mixture of able, satisfied and smug. She piled all the dresses into the Other Housecarl's hands so that she seemed to be a walking pile of burgundy, deep blue and black fabrics and bone-white and slate-grey furs. Then, she knelt at the side of the bed, close to her prone thane.

"My Thane?" she began, enthusiastic at the chance to show an Other Housecarl up. "Would you like some tea?"

The lump beneath the pillow nodded.

"And for the Other- Jordis- to prepare you a bath?"

It nodded again. She looked up at Jordis pointedly, who glared at her from behind the pile of newly-tailored clothing. _Hop to it Other Housecarl_, she glared at the woman who put the clothes down upon the chest at the edge of the bed and stomped out.

"I'll set out the blue dress with the grey fur trimming," she told Aewyn in gentle tones reserved for distressed children. "And a silver and moonstone circlet, from the safe. And a few silver rings. And you can go to meet this Daedric whoever and sort out this nonsense, okay?"

"It's not going to happen like that," Aewyn replied in a pointed manner. "I don't want to go."

"You're going to have to," Lydia tried again, encouragingly. "And you'll have to tell the man- mer- ahem- _Daedra_- that you simply aren't interested."

Aewyn was silent for a few minutes after that. Lydia vaguely wandered if she had dropped off to sleep.

"He's going to kill me," Aewyn piped up at last. "He's going to use my entrails to skip rope."

"You don't know that," Lydia rolled her eyes. She had not encountered any Daedra in her life before, but she couldn't fathom why _anyone _would do something so ridiculous. Aewyn didn' reply, she simply sighed tiredly.

"I'm going to go the Palace and request permission to enter the Pelagius Wing."

"Okay."

"I'm sure Falk Firebeard wouldn't say no to you."

No reply. Lydia left her there and made for the Blue Palace; but only after she exchanged some nasty, jealous looks with Jordis.

* * *

**And in the next chapter, which I'm uploading... now! The two of them finally meet. Divines preserve us...? I hope it meets a standard that's... not poor. Yeah. Lets go with that.**


	6. Chapter 6: Sheogorath Prepares

"How is the vacation going?" were Pelagius' first words to Sheogorath. The Daedric Prince was delighted to see him; or at least, Pelagius thought he was. Hoped he was. One could never be sure.

"Splendid, dear Pelly! Splendid!" Said Sheogorath with a sharp clap of his hands. "But I thought I'd borrow your mind a while...!"

The sky of Pelagius' mind was a dingy shade of grey, and the trees, the flowers and the bushes all seemed to be wilting. Pelagius had commented that it wasn't the most romantic location, but what did Pelagius the Mad know?! He was a nutcase! In any case, what was done, was done, was done! Sheogorath had ordered a splendid table to be set between the three doorways of the late Emperor's mind and ordered _that _to be covered in every kind of cheese, bread and wine available to them. Haskill obliged him, lighted candlesticks, plates of food, goblets, teacups, jugs and sundry items before disappearing again.

And now? They waited. Impatiently, during some hours and happily the next. Pelagius sat opposite him, having dressed for the occasion in fine, but simple clothing. He kept his long blond hair tied back and despite the deep black rings beneath his eyes, his thin frame and the slightly manic air around him, he seemed respectable, if somewhat morose, company.

"I still don't understand why this little... rendezvous of yours, has to happen in _my _mind," Pelagius grumbled as Sheogorath delicately poured him a cup of steaming hot tea. "When you have thousands of other locations to host it in."

"You don't need to understand anything, lad!" Sheogorath shouted back at him. "Your mind is my mind, and my mind is... my mind also, come to think of it! Besides, I'm killing two birds with one stone. I'm stoning birds, here! I get to woo the fairy lad-"

"Fair lady," Pelagius corrected him, absentmindedly.

"Right! And _she _gets to solve your little problem! Everyone's happy!" He bared his teeth in a big, white, shining grin.

Pelagius nodded a little dreamily, and his eyes seemed to be staring from behind an invisibly layer of film. Like they weren't quite there. It was the typical glazed look of a Shivering Isle's Inhabitant. "I suppose I wouldn't mind playing chaperone..." he continued nodding. "And it _is _fun to stone birds..."

"Quite right, quite right," Sheogorath agreed with him around a mouthful of tea. "Scientifically proven, that."

"Quite right, quite right," Pelagius parroted him wisely. They sipped tea solemnly for some time. A long time. In fact, Sheogorath had arrived a whole week before his Argonian concubine had told him that the Dragonborn would arrived. Pelagius was getting a little bit sick of the constant monologues and questioning of the Mad God; who could go on, and would go on, indefinitely, if given half the chance.

Sheogorath stood up quickly, and ran his long, thin hands over his clothes. He wore the usual regalia that befitted a Daedric Prince of Madness, consisting of a long-sleeved jacket tailored from the finest Daedra Silk. One half was a royal shade of deep purple, representing the darker side of the Shivering Isles, and the other a bright vivid red. Together they symbolised Dementia and Mania in harmony. Beneath the jacket was a pale, coral-coloured cravat, and that represented... coral? Strawberry torte? Ooh, entrails perhaps? Sheogorath had no idea. But it was a rather lovely cravat, with a sensitive personality. His trousers were also a deep royal purple, said to be rather dashing on him, and embroidered with lilac swirls.

"How do I look?" He demanded of Pelagius, who jumped at the sudden outburst.

"The same as ever," was the late Emperor's sardonic reply. Sheogorath threw his head back and laughed at that.

"Perfect, perfect!" he cried. "But, oh! Oh!" he stopped, quickly. "Did you bring the list?"

"The list?"

"The list! The paper and ink, and words, and things!" Sheogorath boomed. Pelagius' eyes widened in understanding and he made a show of searching his pockets for the infamous list.

"I had very little time to prepare!" He told the Prince. "So it's perhaps not as long as you might have liked..."

"Never mind, give it here then!" the Prince demanded.

Suddenly, there was a ghostly, unnameable sound. A phantom wind that blew through Pelagius' mind and made him shudder uncomfortably. Sheogorath however, clapped his hands once in delight and turned his gleaming white eyes to the mortal.

"Dear Pelly," he said. "I do believe someone's ringing the doorbell!"

* * *

Aewyn paid little attention to her surroundings as she walked towards the Blue Palace. Instead, she focused on her feet again and let herself be flanked by Jordis and Lydia who kept off anyone who tried to be too sociable. She looked almost regal in her deep blue dress, embroidered with tiny slivers of silky gold; which Aewyn suspected might have been Daedric silk. It resembled the colours of the Thalmor a little too much, in her own opinion, but it was also the most sober, and least-revealing dress. Therefore, it would have to do. She had jammed a silver and moonstone circlet on her head, studied herself in the mirror, yanked it off again. The rings were kept, however. One was enchanted to resist poison, because one never knew what a Daedra might do; the other was enchanted to fortify magicka. She wore an amulet of Talos around her neck for strength and guidance. And also, just in case she found herself having to _fus-ro-dah _an amorous Daedric Prince.

She thought of all the terrible things that had happened in the past two months. The exploding animals, the dancing bandits and the cabbages (which she knew now, to be no practical joke). Had it all been leading up to this one terrifying moment? Or, if He decided to take her to the Shivering Isles. Were there going to be many more terrifying moments after this one?

They reached the door to the Pelagius wing. Sullen maids made shows of sweeping floors and watched with gimlet eyes, muttering prayers to themselves. That crazy Elf-Thane, going in to the Pelagius Wing without so much as a whisper of fear! Didn't she know it was haunted?

"I have to go in by myself," she told Lydia brusquely. Her housecarl spluttered and attempted to protest, but she cut her off. "Give me the key, Lydia," she commanded in a crisp, well-spoken tone. "You may wait for me here, or back at Proudspire..."

Lydia handed her the key with a frown.

"You may needn't have to wait for me at all," Aewyn finished in softer, sadder tones. She swallowed, and closed her golden eyes to steel herself. Beyond the locked door lay madness. Literally.

"Um... You're going to want this as well, my Thane," Lydia told her gruffly. Clamped in her hand was a weird dry lump of something. Upon closer inspection, Aewyn nearly dropped it in disgust. It was the yellowed hip-bone of a human, perfectly preserved. "This mental beggar approached me and told me I had to give it to my mistress," she explained, narrowing her eyes a bit at "mistress", an archaic term. "I figured you'd need it."

"Of course I am," Aewyn sighed, but there was none of the black humour of the early morning. "It's perfect etiquette to take a hip-bone to social functions. Silly me."

Jordis frowned, uncomprehendingly, and shifted from foot to foot.

"I may as well leave everything to you, if I don't come back," she carried on, sounding bizarrely nonchalant. "Or if I go mad, and start hunting midgets or something."

"Generous, my Thane," Lydia nodded gravely, but made a note in the back of her mind to lord it over the Other Housecarl at a less serious moment.

The key slid into the lock, smoothly, happily, as if it had always been there. As if it had been unlocked recently. Aewyn turned it, listening to the tumblers fall into place and rested a gold hand on the doorknob.

"Goodbye Lydia," she said. "And Jordis. For now, I hope."

The Pelagius Wing burned her throat with all the dust and musty smells that came with it. Aewyn couldn't help but sneeze and grimace in distaste as she stumbled blindly into the rooms. The door swung shut behind her and clicked with a strange finality. She couldn't resist turning and pulling at the doorknob to see if it would open. Her suspicions were confirmed. It was locked, and the keyhole would not accept the key no matter how much she pushed it.

"Curious," she murmured to herself.

Suddenly, she felt a weird pressure at the back of her neck. It was as if some God-like hand had picked her up by the scruff and thrown her somewhere else. Where else she knew not, for she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the strangest sensation as if floating, heard a strange, delighted laugh. And then, quite suddenly, and without any explanation: she was Somewhere Else.

* * *

**And because I'm super sorry (and sort of on a roll with these, though at some point in the future I will edit them again, shaking my head) here is the next chapter. Sheogorath and Aewyn do meet, and such on and so forth. Go, go, go! And, if you like, tell me what you think of previous chapters, before you do! Though they really are just fillers. **


	7. Chapter 7: Trouble in Pelagius

_"Look! Look! She's here! She came!"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Look! Look! Pelagius! Act natural!"_

_"What-"_

_"Act Natural!"_

Aewyn felt like she had been knocked out for a good few hours, but in reality it had been mere seconds. That was mind-travel, for you...? She pulled herself to her feet, brushing bits of dry grass off of her new clothes. Up above her weird, gloomy grey skies surveyed the scene below impassively. Wilted, solemn trees lined the pathway she had found herself on.

It wasn't a very romantic destination, which she found reassuring; and was to later on realise, that she shouldn't have. Perhaps Lord Sheogorath was just the over-friendly sort, and just wanted to discuss the finer points of Aetherius over tea and sweet-rolls, or something. A short distance away she saw the back of a blond, diminutive man who seemed swamped by his fine clothes, tailored in a traditional Nordic manner. Then, she noticed the commanding presence of the Other Figure, and dragged her eyes away by the scruffs of their necks. If that made sense. In short she made a very large point of not looking at Him. She'd probably go mad. One hand moved to her Talos amulet and clutched it like a talisman.

"More tea, Pelly, my dear?" she heard a strange, accented voice ask. She had not heard it before, and yet she had. It tugged at some half-forgotten dream, some half-remembered memory. Aewyn closed her eyes and rested her hand on a dead tree trunk to steady herself. It was His voice. Lord Sheogorath. Some sort of weird, exaggerated brogue that she couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Oh I couldn't. Goes right through me," the blond replied, stoically. Aewyn wondered who it was, and what his purpose was there. Sheogorath had quite specifically stated, somewhere on the small of Fine-Figure's back, that she was to come alone. It was only fair that he met her on equal terms. Though really, she was thankful that it wasn't just the two of them, for the Mad God seemed thoroughly distracted at the moment.

"More tea, Pelly, my dear?" Aewyn heard a strange, accented voice ask. She had not heard it before, and yet had. It tugged at some half-forgotten dream or memory. She kept her eyes shut, and felt the dry grass beneath her hands.

"Besides, I have so many things to do!" The blond continued. "So many undesirables to contend with: naysayers, buffoons, detractors… Why, my… my headsman hasn't slept in three days!"

"Blessed are the Sleepless, as they bask in wakeful dreaming," Sheogorath quoted, and let out a sudden, gleeful laugh that made Aewyn's eyes snap open and her body jump. The blond scoffed.

"And now," he said. "Chaperoning this... this, whatever it is. I've not the time, not these days!"

Aewyn felt mightily confused, but figured she was holding herself together pretty impressively so far.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she murmured to herself, turning her attention to the white-haired Daedric Prince, now that it seemed that she was yet to be noticed, or at least acknowledged. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at his guest before grinning widely. Aewyn felt a spark of madness inside and the weird urge to laugh bubbling up inside her at the sight of it. "You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet... homicidally insane Pelagius!"

"Pelagius?" she repeated, dumbly, and instantly wished that she hadn't.

The blond twisted his head to see who had called his name. His face was sunken and slightly manic, with large shadows beneath the eyes. He looked Aewyn up and down once or twice before rolling his eyes in what Aewyn had always believed would be a very unEmperor-like mannerism. She met the wild, white-eyed gaze of a Daedric Prince with more than a little trepidation. In fact, Aewyn found herself very interested in her feet only moments later, despite certain parts of her mind admiring how well-kempt the Daedra looked for a... well... Daedra.

Keeping her eyes way from the mental, smirking God she focused her attention on the supposed Pelagius. "Pelagius the Mad?" she asked.

"The One and Only!" interrupted Sheogorath, a little put out at the way the Altmer seemed to dismiss him. But never fear, for Sheogorath was not cast down easily! "He's the best Septim that ever ruled! Weeellll, except for that Martin fellow," he paused for thought. "But he turned into a dragon god! Dragon god... Dragonborn...! You two would probably get along, come to think it. But... the whole Dragon business! Tis hardly sporting."

"Oh... oh?" Aewyn sort of mumbled back, carefully bowing her head so she needn't look into his eyes. She had sort of... forgotten... all of Lydia's words about being brave and telling the Daedric Prince "Sorry, but I'm not interested," and found herself being invited into a chair opposite aforementioned Sheogorath, instead.

The Mad God simply leaned back in his throne, affecting nonchalance. "I was there for that whole sordid affair, you know," he informed her. "Mm! Marvelous time! Cheese... to die for!" He sighed in pleasure.

"Fasc-Fascinating," Aewyn managed, looking around for something- _anything_- to study besides the god before her.

"I say," she said, at last. "Is this a tea party?" Sheogorath laughed, for no real reason it seemed.

"Yes, that's it," Pelagius sighed grumpily. "It's always tea-time."

"Always tea-time," Aewyn repeated, scrunching her face up. "Oh," she flung the bone on the table. "I believe this is yours, by the way."

She never thought she'd live to say that she'd shocked Pelagius the Mad into silence, but she was on a roll! She had taken the lead in the conversation by throwing the bone, it seemed, and a part of her felt that she really shouldn't disappoint. That part of her was disappointed however, as she said the rather mundane, and offensive:

"I don't much like madness."

Sheogorath looked aghast, Pelagius looked positively petrified. She hurried to assert herself.

"I don't!" she cried. "I don't stand for that sort of nonsense! It's unladylike, it's the- the height of bad manners!"

"Oh, but you can't help that," Pelagius informed her in a drawling, patronising manner. "We're all mad here. I'm mad. He's mad. And you? Well, you're quite mad."

"I'm not mad," Aewyn growled back at him, taking all of her frustration out on the decidedly less dangerous mortal. "How do you know I'm mad?"

"You must be," Sheogorath's voice was very soft then. So soft, that Aewyn turned to face him in surprise; taking in the vibrant red and purple of his clothes, the white, fierceness of his eyes. The predatory smile that was all at once cloying, coy and threatening. "You must be!" he said. "Or you wouldn't have come here!"

It was hard to argue with that sort of logic. Silence reigned. Pelagius noted that the Daedric Prince of Madness was something of a flop around the ladies. Especially the sort that had sticks up their arses, the sort that believed they couldn't be more out of place in the Shivering Isles if they tried. _The list, _he mouthed at his master, _the list! _Sheogorath fumbled under the table for The List.

"So... you think I'm mad?" the elf was saying, with a prim and proper frown upon her features. Pretty enough, Pelagius thought. He supposed it was the _dovah _soul of the woman that attracted Sheogorath to her. The almost-divinity.

"I'm afraid so," Sheogorath was replying. "You're mad, bonkers, completely off your head! But I'll tell you a secret," and then he winked. "All the best people are."

"That wasn't on the list," Pelagius intoned. "But it was still pretty good!"

Sheogorath threw his teacup at the late Emperor. It whizzed behind his head and smashed into tiny little pieces near one of the doorways. "What have I said about good little Emperor's being seen and not heard?" he asked.

"Yes, yes... seen and not heard," Pelagius hung his head. Sheogorath always made his brain feel as if a slaughterfish had been using it for a tooth-sharpener. Sheogorath gasped, quite obviously offended.

"Hafrumph! Well then, if you're going to be like that... Perhaps it's best I take my leave! A good day to you, Sir. I SAID good day!"

Aewyn watched the two argue, quite forgotten.

"Yes, yes, Go! Leave me to my ceaseless responsibilities and burdens…!"

Sheogorath waved his hand imperiously and from the very air itself, a huge purple curtain seemed to rip itself open. A portal, Aewyn realised, back to wherever the man had been summoned from. Pelagius blew a very rude raspberry at the both of them and snatched his hip-bone of the table. Aewyn felt faint- felt like all the blood had rushed from her face. It was just her, and the Mad God. The Mad God who had plagued her for the past two months, sent her singing demons, Argonian prostitutes and weird, wonderful dreams!

Breathlessly, she wondered what he was going to do next. As far as the Mad God's antics went, it was pretty mundane. He slammed his hand on the table, and made all the cutlery shake.

"How RUDE! Can't be bothered to host an old friend, nor to meet new ones!" Aewyn noticed his hands travel to a cane at the side of his throne. He picked it up and began twirling it in his hands in agitation. "Rude, rude, RUDE!"

"L-Lord Sheogorath," Aewyn began, but he seemed not to hear her.

"And now we'll have to begin all over again!" he was ranting to himself, twirling the cane over and over. "And I just hate it, I just hate repeating myself! It's not healthy in a Daedra of my agelessness!"

"You!" He flung his cane towards her, until it was little more than a few centimetres from her eyes. "Lady fair! Dragonborn! Go over there! From the top!"

"From the top?"

"Don't make me repeat myself!" Sheogorath ordered. "I hate repeating myself! Wait... I _am _repeating myself." He looked up at her and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Clever minx!"

Aewyn retreated very, very quickly to the way she had come, really not sure how to reply to that. "Places, places, everyone!" she heard him mutter.

_This is insane._..

* * *

Aewyn felt more than a little stupid as she was welcomed back into the clearing, a place laid out for her where Pelagius the Mad had literally just sat. She wondered if the pressures of defeating Alduin had gotten to her, and actually, she was just off her tits on Skooma. Sheogorath stood as she made her way to her chair and held out his hand. She took it, warily. Noticed how mortal, how normal and like a man's it felt beneath her fingers.

"Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness," he told her with a predatory gleam of a smirk. "Charmed."

"Prince of Madness," Aewyn deadpanned, taking back her hand and sitting. "Impressive title you have there."

"Aye!" He looked delighted at being told so. "It's a family title. Gets passed down from to me to myself, every few thousand of years."

"Yes, well..." Aewyn accepted a goblet of wine; no tea for her it seemed. It had a delicious smoky taste that reminded her of the glades of Valenwood. Whatever it was, she gulped it down for courage before continuing. "I believe you had some... some business... to discuss with me, Lord Sheogorath."

"Wait, wait!" Sheogorath interrupted, like a bossy child. "Introduce yourself, properly! Do it how it's meant to be done!"

"A-Aewyn," she stammered out, not wanting to risk his temper. "Er. Dragonborn. Thane of Whiterun, Thane of Solitude, Thane of Markarth, Alduin's Bane-"

"And all-round general good-girl," Sheogorath finished for her. "And now, to business!" There was a rustling of parchment. "Do try the strawberry torte- whilst I... sort out the business..." he mumbled.

Aewyn took a piece of strawberry torte. It was deliciously warm and sweet and crumbled in the most fantastic way on her tongue. She was already on her second slice by the time he had looked up again, and was feeling decidedly more in control.

"Basically, mortal," Sheogorath leaned forward, speaking in intimate tones; as if he were telling a secret. "My lenses turn dark in the sunshine of your love."

Aewyn stared. And stared. And stared. The Mad God frowned, and not in the good way.

"One moment," he grumbled and looked under the table. Aewyn heard the rustling of paper again. He looked up. "I meant... You must be a Nightingale."

"Excuse me?"

"Because you're_ Nocturning-me-on_!" Sheogorath looked up with a wide, expectant smile. Then, it fell completely. "What was that?" He demanded. "What in Oblivion was _that_?" The Mad God looked up to the gloomy, grey skies and seemed to shake a piece of paper at it. "You had one job, Pelagius! One job!"

"What in Nirn, are you going on about?" Aewyn cut in, sharply. "What's that?"

Sheogorath looked at The List. Then back to Aewyn. The piece of crumpled parchment was destroyed in a sudden puff of flame.

"What was what?" he asked her.

"Lord Sheogorath, didn't you invite me here for a reason?"

Sheogorath cocked his head to one side. Then to the other. He pursed his lips, drummed his hands against the table, and then, finally, began to nod. "Yes." he said. "Yes. I invited you here for reasons."

Aewyn waited, patiently. To be honest, as unsettling as it was, she was of the mind that it could have been much worse. He could have skinned her and worn her as a hat by now. Or made her into a skipping rope of some kind, or a lute perhaps.

"Look, mortal!" He burst out at last. "I want to tell you something, and I hope you understand it comes from the bottom of my damaged, damaged soul! Mind. Do Daedra's have souls? Regardless!"

He had locked his eyes with her blue ones. "You've stolen my heart!" He accused, with one of those terrifying, yet endearing grins. "That's crazy right? Crazy! Never even knew I had one! You've stolen _something _of mine anyway."

"I have?" she asked, weakly.

"Yes," he replied. "So, you'd best agree to give me yours. Lest I tear it out of you." The Mad God finished amiably, and looked rather pleased with himself and the way he managed to articulate his wants.

"That can't happen!" Aewyn cried out, before she could stop herself. "My lord!" She added afterwards, rather quickly, and felt a sudden stab of sympathy for Lydia. It was a bother having to always refer to someone by their title. "I'm a mortal. And you... you aren't. Do you not understand? I mean..."

She threw her hands up in the air, helplessly.

"How does that even work?!"

Sheogorath was silent for a long time, as if mulling her rejection over in his head. One hand moved over to the teapot, and poured a fresh cup of tea for himself. His white eyes shifted restlessly, up, then down, to her face where they lingered, and down to the strawberry tortes and cheesecakes that littered the table.

"You are missing the point, dearest woman," He replied, at last. He stood up, something strange in the aura about him- something intimidating. Aewyn stood up, too.

"Where did that- that P-Pelagius go?" she babbled as Sheogorath stalked towards her. Her strides seemed to grow shorter, and his longer,t he more she struggled to create space between them. The Dovah inside her was kicking into defensive high gear and growling at her to shout the Prince back to Oblivion. Aewyn had never realised how suicidal her dovah truly was. "I preferred us as- as a trio, you know."

"Do you," he said, with each word, getting much closer to her. Aewyn realised that she was somewhat frightened by his height. As an Altmer, and a tall one at that, it was unlikely that she met someone taller than her. "Tiny, insignificant thing. Expendable creature..." He reached his hand out and splayed cold fingers across her cheek. "Really think that you can stop me from getting what I want?"

Aewyn squeaked. He dragged his hand roughly across her cheekbone and tugged at an errant lock of blond hair.

"I'm a part of you, understand?"He tapped her, lightly. Grinned. "Now sit back down! Enjoy the ride!"

Aewyn sat. Sheogorath cut her another slice of torte.

"I won't," She stammered at him. "I won't be bullied!"

The Mad God laughed.

* * *

**Yes. So, that's that, so far. I have more of their first meeting to come, and hopefully of better quality. It's been very hard to write recently. I haven't a laptop of my own to use and others keep breathing down my back. I hope this is good enough for now. It should be getting romancey soon...? Review! Brownie points if you see any references to Alice In Wonderland. Pick-up lines (Skyrim-themed included) are not mine.**

******(Oh. And if you like Sheogorath. I have another fic entitled "Through Dangers Untold")**

**I'll probably go back on this. But for now: Cheese! Cheese for Everyone!**


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